Buffalo Bill drew a revolver; then lowered it. He did not want to shoot the fellow, nor did he want to alarm the girl.
“The rascal was slipping up to the house for some purpose,” he said, “but he didn’t reach it. I came out and caught him here under the tree. Some scoundrelly scamp who thought to do a little stealing! If I tell Miss Forest it will only frighten her. And her nerves are gone all to pieces now. What’s the use of worrying her further?”
Buffalo Bill watched the man as he disappeared within the grove, and saw him come out with his horse and ride off.
“The villain tried to keep his face turned away so that I wouldn’t know him next time I saw him, but I think I’d recognize him, just the same!”
He returned to the house, and discovered Lena contemplating the emeralds, which she had poured out on the table.
“Good thing he didn’t get to see them,” was the scout’s thought, when he observed that.
“It seems almost as if my uncle must come again, and that I ought to wait here for him,” she said, looking up. “It’s strange how I can’t make myself realize that he is dead.”
She rested her cheek on her hand and looked at the scout. She was a handsome girl, clad simply, but in good taste, and he could note her beauty. Her brown eyes were dark and dreamy, and the flush now in her cheeks, though it was a bit hectic, gave them the color that they needed. The hand on which she rested her cheek was small and shapely, though it was now rope-burned and red from the effects of her climb that morning to save the life of the scout.
“It’s hard to realize a thing which one doesn’t see,” Buffalo Bill assented.
“Of course, I can’t stay here,” she said; “and, really, I must go at once; for hereafter this house will seem haunted to me. I’ll go straight East, and have Bruce go with me. I may never come back again. And yet I should like to look just once on my father’s grave.”